Crossing Swords
by Mikochansweden
Summary: I want to warn people that this was written by my friend during a 60 minutes long fanfiction contest at a convention in Sweden. You were given two RANDOM characters to pair up. It's a crackfic! So DON'T take it personally or seriously. Mild Tony/Guybrush


WARNING! People will mention alcohol and boy/boy. This will be mentioned in a humorous way so don't take it seriously!

Ironman and Monkey Island belong to their own creators and I would NEVER take credit for them.

I do let my friend take credit for writing this crackfic XD

**CROSSING SWORDS**  
_A Tony Stark x Guybrush Threepwood Fanfic_

Palm trees. Tropical wildlife. Three-headed monkeys. It was immediately clear for our hero, world-renowned entrepeneur and rich-man Tony Stark, that something had gone terribly wrong with his new jet module recently constructed for his suit. What should've just taken him from one side of the North American continent to the next ended up taking him not only down to the Carribbean, but a couple of centuries back in time to boot. How this was possible, we will never know. The suit itself was, perhaps only temporarily, out of comission from the impact made in the deep jungles of the island he had crash-landed on. He would need all his cunning and all the tools he could find to make the necessary repairs to make a return back home possible. But right now, there was one thing he needed most of all.

"I need a drink."

With those words uttered to himself, his self-discipline thrown out the window and past demons welcomed back in, he strode through the thick jungle, tackling minor and major obstacles as they came until he would reach shore. Fate would treat him well in this matter, perhaps to balance out his unfortunate predicament, as he would find not a simple shore, but a seemingly populated dock. Civilization! And best of all for our hero, his eyes would spot a well-lit and busy pub just by the docks.

"SCUMM™ BAR?", he said upon closer inspection of the sign. "What kind of name is that?" Shrugging it off, Tony straightened himself before entering; a good first impression is key for a successfull businessman as himself. However, upon entering the bar, his manners would prove themselves to be for naught. The bar was, true to its name, bustling with the scum of the Carribbean. Pirates. Table upon table crowded with loud, filthy, smelly and drunk pirates; some missing an eye, some missing a leg, some of them even missing a hand; all replaced with their glass, wooden and sharp prothese counterparts. Taking a deep breath (and based on the odours subsequently regretting it), Tony strode through the room, the patrons eyeing him with much scrutiny. Reaching the bar counter, he would call for the barkeeps attention, and ask for a glass of whiskey.

"Grog."  
"What?"  
"Grog. We only serve grog here."  
"Well then, what is this 'grog'?"  
"Well my good sir, it's a local speciality made of one or more of the following: kerosene, propylene glycol, artificial sweeteners, sulphuric acid, rum, acetone, red dye number 2, scumm, axle grease, battery acid and/or pepperoni."

Perplexed by the contents described of this "local speciality", and the fact that the bar's patrons actually drank that horrid stuff, Tony shook his head and sat back down. Stuck in God knows where, or WHEN, with seemingly no way home and not a decent drink available in town... could things get any worse?

"Ahoy, barkeep! Grog me!"

The young voice that pierced the immediate surroundings of Tony was of an equally young man; long blonde hair tied into a tiny ponytail, naïve baby-blue eyes, dressed in a white shirt and black trousers covered up by an open captain's coat. Such a seemingly sweet and harmless individual... and he was about to drink some of that grog stuff? Tony felt the urge to speak up, and indulged his instincts.

"Are you sure you want to drink that stuff? I can actually see it eat through the mugs it's served in."  
"No real pirate passes up on a nice mug of grog. And I am Guybrush Threepwood, Mighty Pirate!"  
"I didn't actually ask for your name, kid."  
"And if a mighty pirate can't stomach grog, he wouldn't be a mighty pirate, now would he?"

The so-called mighty pirate was obviously lost in his own fabled world of pirating to listen to just about anything Tony had to say. Receiving a mug of the disgusting goo, Guybrush quickly downed it... and just as quickly legging it out to the docks. Tony snickered to himself.

"Heh, perhaps he wasn't that mighty of a pirate after all."

Then the thought hit him. He's stuck on an island with nowhere to go, and that young blonde... well, he wasn't exactly bad-looking. But wait, no. It's a guy! No way can Tony be interested in another man... or could he? Considering the other patrons in the bar, he was probably the best he could get; and that included the women. After a moment's thought, he got out and followed Guybrush's trail out to the docks. Seeing the young man bent over while puking his guts out made him even more frustrated. Tony called out to him.

"Hey, kid! Have you ever... crossed swords, before?"  
"Crossed swords?", Guybrush asked. "I'm a pirate, of course I've crossed swords before!"  
"Would you like to... you know, cross swords, like now?"  
"You mean like, right now? Are you challenging me to a duel."  
"Yes... let's call it a duel."  
"You're on!"

However, instead of dropping his pants as Tony had hoped, Guybrush drew his sword instead, pointing it at Tony.

"You fight like a dairy farmer!", Guybrush exclaimed.  
"... excuse me?"

"... I said, you fight like a dairy farmer!" Tony facepalmed with a sigh. "What are you doing?"  
"Have you never done Insult Sword Fighting before?"  
"Insult...?"  
"You know, you're supposed to give me a witty comeback! You know, like, 'oh yeah? Well, you fight like a cow!"  
"Witty comeback...?"  
"Come on! Every enemy I've met I've annihilated!"

With a huge sigh, Tony gave his 'witty' comeback; "Ah, forget it." Turning the comfounded Guybrush his back, Tony went back into the bar, sat down by the counter, and called for the barkeeps attention once more.

"Hey, uh... get me some of that grog-stuff, will ya?"

As the night went on, if you listened closely you could hear a familiar tune whistling in the air...

La-la-la-la-la-la... (Monkey Island™ theme)

_**THE END**_


End file.
